


Sinners Dreams.

by AnonIngram



Series: Rockford Slums Saga. [1]
Category: Nandroids
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Detective Noir, Drama, Robots, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonIngram/pseuds/AnonIngram
Series: Rockford Slums Saga. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164155
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

"Welcome back from commercial break folks, this is the Rockford Blues, it's about that time again. True crime hour, the continuing harrowing adventures of the Defective Detective, Robotic Dick, Nightmare of Deadmodes, Bolt Stone! And his beautiful heartthrob secretary and sidekick of a nandroid Macy, and their crusade to bring justice for bots in our fair city,"

"But first, this show has been brought to you by First Strike Cigarettes, the last thing any dirty communist will see. Now without a further ado, today's episode:

I married an Outmode."

\---------------------------------

Moonlight breaks through the rain clouds over the rooftops illuminating the alleyway below. A silver plated nandroid wearing a leopard print dress walked through the alleyways, her neon pink fuzzy scarf blowing around from the high winds. 

Trying to remember the fastest way to her car through the alleyways, if she didn't hurry her husband would be calling the police chief to send a patrol out for her. She saw a faint purple glow in the distance before a trash can fell over, it was merely a cat. Breathing a sigh of relief she continued onwards, as she reached an intersection, she looked both ways, crossing the street. As she neared her car there was a whisper of chanting on the wind, but she couldn't make it out. Distressed she ran faster, tripping over something she didn't see, falling to the ground in a heap. She tried getting up but was kicked in the stomach, sending her flying into a wall, when her eye receptors rebooted, she was looking into a robotic man's face as he was standing over her, shotgun in hand. Last thing she saw was his red eyes before it went dark with a flash of light with a bang.

\----------------------------------------

Fog choked sunlight filters through the blinds hanging on smoke stained windows in the dingy apartment. Clothes litter the room, cigarette butts, and empty beer cans cover the once white carpet now stained yellow and brown with grime and age. The light finding its way to a disheveled copdroid. He slowly gets out of a stupor, beer cans falling off his body, joints popping and grinding, the dusty couch thankful his weight is finally gone. He pops a pill container, labeled Nano-Refill, slipping down each sweet Orange pill into his mouth. He downs them with a warm beer from an already open can, before he looks inside, crushes it, and tosses it with its brothers on the floor. He scratches his face rust flakes hitting the ancient carpet. He checked his pants pocket finding the pack he currently had was empty, he balled it up, throwing it in the corner of the living room. 

Heading into his kitchen, opening the counter drawer grabbing a crumbled First Strike filtered cigarette carton from within. Tapping the new pack into his palm, before ripping off the plastic band. Putting a brand new cigarette into his mouth lighting it he took a deep breath taking the cheap smoke into his body. He stared out into the smog drenched city, the buildings dark grey husks against the grey palette sky, smoke rising from the furnaces of massive factories in Chicago. He stayed there a while just remembering what needed to be remembered. He pushed the cigarette butt into the once cherry red ash tray on his kitchen table before heading into the bathroom. 

Looking back at himself a copdroid way past his prime, black grease stains under his eyes, normal wear and tear, rust gathering at the bottom of his angular chin, and some around his tungsten coated jawline. He twisted the hot water tap taking a few seconds to chug to life, before churning forth a foul smelling water. Grabbing the tube of anti rust cream applying it to his face thoroughly. When he's done and happy with the foam he gets the used and abused scraper from the cabinet beside the mirror setting it down on the sink rim. He checks the clock. The urgent need for a stiff drink kept coming into the back of his mind as he slowly counted the seconds down.

11:35. 

He waited for a few minutes before scraping the now foam drenched rust from his face, wet rust chunks falling into the sink, swirling down the drain. After the first layer is gone, he checks himself in the mirror. Rubbing his fingers over his face making sure no protrusions remain. Happy with the results, he washes his face off in the now hot water getting rid of any remnant foam. Getting a wet rag, he scrubbed the grease under his eyes. When done he takes a deep breath looking at himself in the mirror. Dark marks from where rust once was, began to dry gun metal grey the same as his chassis. He leaves the bathroom into the kitchen once more. He takes off his holster, setting it on the kitchen table facing towards the door. Starting the coffee machine it sputters before it drips cheap coffee into a glass pot. Heading to the closet, pulling out a brown trench coat, ripped and worn. Patches dot the surface, the leather distressed, sewn countless times. He smiles patting it before setting it on the chair his holster hangs from. He walks back over to close the closet door, a blue uniform sits in the back covered in brown splotches and dust. He stares at it before slowly closing the door. 

The coffee machine dings telling him the coffee was done, as a sweet aroma fills the room. He pulls the glass pot out of the abused machine, reaching into the cupboards above the kitchen sink pulling out an old tin cup the bottom burnt black from countless uses. He pours the dark swill of liquid into the tin, setting the coffee down on a coaster, made of Vibrant colored yarn. Opening the cupboard below the sink he pulls out a green ammo can, the labels barely readable after years of constant use. He cracked open the metal container rubber O-ring greased and non-cracked. Pulling out a discolored box that only reads now, Ingram Firearms 12.7MM ammunition, Armor Piercing Incendiary High Explosive Tracer. He sets it down next to his hand cannon, with a black oxide finish with worn Ironwood grips. In bold letters Ruger Last Stand: Government Edition, are engraved into the side of the 10 inch square barrel. He begins inserting rounds each clacking as they hit the metal of the cylinder. After feeding the monster, he sets it back into the holster, before cleaning up the mess on the table, and putting away the ammo can. After the coffee cools, he takes a sip, taking a few seconds to enjoy the sickly, burnt bean taste. The phone above the kitchen table rings, ruining his small moment of bliss, taking it off the ringer, he puts it up to what should be an ear.

"Bolt Stone speaking."

\---------------------------------

1983, December 17th. 15:45

Harmony Schwartz was an outstanding nandroid actress, starring in several shows and plays on Broadway, in Las Vegas, and the latest one in The Chicago Theatre. Married to a Mr. Henry Schwartz for a total of 20 years, he was a Veteran of the Alaskan Campaign, doing nearly 5 tours. The newspaper had pictures of her at her latest self written performance, 'Chicago's Blonde Terror' in a cashmere leopard print dress and neon pink scarf. Her blonde hair did up to look like Jane Fontaine of Yesteryear.

Detective Stone thought she would have looked beautiful, if it wasn't for the long gashes in her chassis and well, being decapitated from the chin up. He stood over the torn up corpse looking around the crime scene. He guessed she crawled 30 feet from her Black Chrysler Highwaymann, before falling onto her back by the curb. The holes and cracks in the cement suggests her head was burst open from a close range 12 gauge shotgun. Reported several hours after the corpse had been found by a bank teller on his way to work across the street. 

"Good looking broad, good part of town, gets shot and no one to see it?" Stone said to himself as he stood up, backing away from the body liters by orange markers labeling evidence. "So what's the angle Chief, normally cops don't bother with doing this kind of thing."

The rotund aging police chief smacked his fedora, the rain water drenched it to an uncomfortable degree, he put the crumpled hay back onto his bald head before answering.  
"If we didn't it would have been an uproar, if a starlets murderer was left unchecked roaming the streets." He sighed, watching Stone's mechanical face, clearly showing he didn't buy it.  
"Fine, you got me. Governor ordered it, he already told us not to bother with robot crime, unless they harm humans, but this one seemed odd." His grey mustache twitched, as he checked his watch.  
"Odd how?" Stone asked, scratching his head.  
"Well, nothing of importance was stolen. The car alone is 500,000$ and her clothing is much more, hell all the silver alone is worth more than the entire precinct's budget, yet it's all left here." The chief exclaimed, pointed to each one.  
"So you're saying it's a mob hit?" Stone pulled out a notepad listing it down.

"Possibly, anyway I have a dinner party to be at. I'll let you look around and tell the officer when you're done, so he can have someone clean up this mess." The chief stated, before walking off towards his car.  
Stone watched him go, the soft rain patting his metal skull, he checked the time on his wrist watch, realizing he didn't even have breakfast, his synthetic stomach growled telling him he was running low on energy. Cursing himself, he sent out a message on his pager, before combing over the scene.

He looked around inside the car. The chief wasn't lying. This was expensive, flat screen face to face phone, bills, papers, purse which was left closed. He undid the clasp opening the purple gator skin purse.  
Perfume, a crumpled letter, and family photos. He looked the last two over.  
The letter was written on average paper, nothing too fancy, but written in black ink.  
'I can't wait to see you again, I have some new toys coming in we can use for next time. XOXO Reginald.' Seems she was getting some lubing on the side, can't rule that out.  
He turned the photo over in his hand, average looking family, Harmony, Henry, and two kids. Photo was labeled 'July, 17th, 1981, Miami beach.' The kids seemed to be average height, average build, it all seemed average except for the man he assumed was Henry, he wasn't smiling like the other four.  
Did he know? Maybe it wasn't a mob hit after all, maybe. Stone's thoughts were interrupted by his pager ringing from his belt. He pulled it off his belt, reading the display readout.

'I picked up the food you wanted, it's waiting at the office. M <3'

Nodding to the small device, before putting it back on his belt, he went around the crime scene one last time, trying to see if he left anything, but he found nothing, no shells, no cigarette butts, very professional. Something did ring odd about this one. He took some photos of the body, burning them to his memory, before standing up and heading to the officer who stood at the entrance of the parking lot. Stone nodded his head, getting a hat tip in reply as he walked out towards his office. He hoped if he had a full stomach, it would help but he had plenty of calling around to do after.

\----------------------------

He pushed the wood door open, the glass stencil read 'Stone Detective Agency'. Pulling his coat off and setting it on a hanger in the hall as he tapped his boots against the carpet mats, getting as much rain water off as he could. The warm office was already doing wonders on his old circuits as he stepped inside the lobby out of the cold weather, the sweet aroma of coffee and cheap fast food hit him first before he saw her. Cleaning the tops of the tall filing cabinets on a wood step ladder stood a nandroid in a beige cardigan, brown curly hair, clipped to one side. Hearing the lobby door chime, she turned to face him as he stepped through. She smiled, her beaming dull violet pink eyes, the pupils swirling like a glitter bottle, as she got off the ladder.

"Welcome back, sir. There's several bills, and messages waiting for you." She said moving towards her desk in front of the door, grabbing the stack of papers she had prepared. She began to list them off as he grabbed his food, she got him from McReichs, the German food chain down the block. He answered in a short fashion as he began to eat.  
"Ahem, Power bill."  
"Keep."  
"Bill from Recoil Monthly."  
"Trash."  
"Several letters from the Police chief, Mayor, and Governor."  
"Keep, Trash, Trash."  
"Letter from Roxy-"  
"Give."  
She walked over holding out the letter, made of purple paper, accented with a floral pressed inlay. Shoving it into his pocket, he can't have her reading this one. With his meal finished, he was about to wipe his fingers covered in grease and mustard on his pants, before she interrupted him with a cough, as she stared him down. Rolling his eyes, he grabs a napkin and cleans each of his metallic digits with it.  
"Fantastic, now sir were you heading out again, or will you be staying here for a bit?" She asserted as she sat back down at her desk.  
"I have a few calls to make first, was there anything else before I went into my office?" He asked, wiping his mouth with the same dirty napkin.  
"Well, I had one phone message, but it didn't seem all that important."  
"What is it?"  
"A man labeled as HS, said he wanted to meet you, as the Police chief directed him to you?"  
"Perfect, seems I'll be staying longer than expected mind starting the coffee?"  
"Not at all, sir."  
"Thanks."  
Lost in thought, he looked up at the ceiling fan, as it spinned letting out hot air, plaques and pictures lined the wall towards the door. A small tillandsia with red flowers sat in an orange pot on her desk. His eyes moved from memory to memory, on reflex and habit, his feet were kicked up on the table, a lit smoke in his hand, his orange eyes having gone deadpan for several minutes.

"Sir. Sir. Sir!" She called to him, before he reacted looking at her.  
"Hjh, what?" He stammered out, blinking himself back to reality.  
"Your coffee is ready."  
"Thank you."  
"Not yet, your feet if you would kindly." Her cheeks turned pink to match her eyes, he sighed in response, pushing the chair back, and lowering his feet to the floor.  
"Sorry."  
"It's absolutely fine, also I called that HS fellow back, he said he was going to arrive soon, should I prepare a second pot?"  
"Yeah, that'd be fine." He said accepting the cracked coffee cup, showing signs of being lovingly glued back together. He took a sip caught in the pure bliss of black coffee, before the door chime went off, he wouldn't be able to finish any coffee would he? Standing up, he downed the coffee turning around.

A man in his 40s stood in the doorway, his face covered in several distinguishing scars, his hair auburn and greying, sporting a crew cut, he stood taller than the nandroid, but he was a foot and a half shorter than Stone. He looked around the office lobby, before closing the door behind him.  
"I'm guessing you're Stone?" He spoke in a deep faux tone.  
"I suppose, but usually the courtesy is you give your name first." Stone grumbled back to the man, who gave off hostility like a cornered grizzly bear.  
"I talked to some gal named Macy?" His gaze never leaves the 8 foot tall robot detective.

"That would be m- ahh!" Macy, busy cleaning under her desk, called out before slamming her head against the top of it when she tried getting up. "Ow, sorry."  
"Sheesh, what is this?" The man said to himself, looking down at the nandroid who crawled out from under the desk.  
"Sorry, you must be… Henry Schwartz, right? I called you earlier." She said patting her head, checking for integrity damage.  
"Yeah, you fuckheads find my wife's killer, or do you always play with yourselve-" He could only manage to get out before being slammed to the floor.  
"Son, I can only tolerate so much disrespect before I snap, I get you're upset over your wife's murder, but calm down." Stone extorted through his tungsten teeth, standing over Henry who he just suckered punched.  
"We are here to help, but if you're gonna be rude, I'm gonna ask you to leave. I only took this case because the Police chief asked me to, not from how many zeroes the Governor put on the check. Now will you play nice?"  
Stone stood over the man, waiting for a response, but it took a while before he got back a reply.

"Yes… Jesus christ."  
Stone helped the man up, and into the living room of the office, sitting him down on the couch against the front window. Macy followed behind them both, carrying a red coffee cup, having a nervous smile on her face, looking between an Ex-Crisis Team member and an Alaskan Army Survivor.  
"Damn, that fucking hurt." Henry breathed in, grabbing his stomach and rubbing it.  
"Sorry, you gonna be alright?" Stone asked him, dragging a chair into the living room, sitting on it backwards, a notepad in hand.  
"I lived through worse, sorry about that, I just… have not been myself."  
Henry said, looking to the shag carpet floor.  
"Yeah, I understand." Stone said with a somber tone, as memories came back in kind.  
Macy sensing the dark atmosphere, smiled and turned to Henry.  
"S-Sir, would… you like some coffee, we have only black though." She grimaced as he replied with laughter like a jacksaw.  
"Yeah, that would be nice." He said with a flat thin smile, leaning forward on the sofa.  
As Macy set down the red coffee cup she prepared beforehand in front of Henry, she turned around and her watch chimed.  
"It's time to feed Mr. Ives!" She rushed out getting a bag of small food pellets.  
"The damn plant isn't important right now." Stone called after her, sighing.  
"He's important to me, you're just upset he doesn't like you!" She sang back to him, as she was fooling around in the office next door.  
"So did you find anything on my wife?" Henry asked, leaning on the back of the sofa drinking the coffee.

"Sadly, no. I just got back from the scene, and was hoping to call around to find out, but you showed up just in time before I could," Stone tapped the notepad in his hand, as he withdrew a pen from his pants pocket. "Just some questions, if you wouldn't mind."  
-"Where were you last night?"  
"At home, worried sick. She never accepts bodyguards, nor my help and always comes and leaves without telling me." Henry looked troubled, moving his eyes to watch Macy play with the plant.  
"Interesting… can you recall anything else before that?"  
“I was entertaining some guests who stopped by the penthouse looking for Harmony, we stood around for probably 2 hours having drinks and talking.” Henry was spiteful in his response.  
"I see, final question then," Stone adjusted his collar, loosening it slightly. "How was your marriage, was-?"  
"What does that mean!?" Henry shot up screaming, shooting daggers into Stone, who had his hand up in case he needed to defend himself. Macy watched from her desk, her hand hovering over the phone.  
"Nothing, just asking, calm down." Stone did not flinch away from Henry, keeping eye contact as he slowly stood up from the chair.  
"There is nothing wrong alright?"  
Henry tried to reaffirm while looking around the room.  
"Listen, alright no need to tell me twice, just calm down," Stone got closer slowly tapping the man's shoulder. "Listen you had a rough day, just go home and try to relax, I'll call you in a couple days when I get something."  
Henry looked to him, then to his hands nodding.  
"Alright...alright." Defeated he got on his coat, and left out the door, clicking the door closed behind him.  
Stone stood in the hall watching the door, giving it a few extra seconds.  
"Something about him is wrong." Stone scratched his chin, running back over what just happened.  
"You think sir? You did slam him to the floor." Macy said in a dry tone, attempting humor.  
"No, I mean, oh right. I was going to show him, but when he reacted that way…" Stone trailed off as he dug around in his dirty suit pants.  
"Here." He held out the letter he found in the car. Macy read over the note, tapping a pen to her cheek.  
"You think she was cheating, it could be a friend who is gay after all, I heard they like to write this way." She said gently folding the letter and putting it in a front pocket.  
"Maybe, but I plan to go find out," He threw on his jacket, turning back with only one arm in his trench coat.  
"Oh mind finding out who this Reginald guy is?"  
"Sure, but what are you going to do, sir?" She asked, petting the plant's leaves.  
"Gonna tail Henry, find where he lives and see who the guests were the night before, guy like him has to have CCTV, and he doesn't strike me as a crime mastermind." Buttoning up the front of his coat, he reaches for the door handle.  
"Be careful, would you?" Getting her purse to head to the library downtown, pushing a .38 S&W PDS with pink rubber grips into a side bag.  
"I'm always careful, besides your safety is off." He chuckled, closing the door behind him.  
Flustered she fumbles with the safety, breathing a sigh of relief as it clicks to red.  
"I hate guns."

\--------------------------------------

Following behind by a few cars, Schwartz led Stone to the base of Grand Plaza Central Penthouses, three skyscrapers connected by multiple skybridges all in a circle. He came here numerous times before, but generally he wasn't invited. Sneaking in was easy, but finding where Schwartz lived was the hard part, they kept names off the plates telling who lived where, but there was always a trick. He walked into the glass box at one of many entrances, it clicked closed behind him then locked.  
"Please confirm your identity." The monotone voice box said aloud.  
"Pizza delivery, Stone Bolticus. Anchovies and sausage for Mister Henry Schwartz."  
He said in a dull, bored, overworked voice.  
"Please call your party at the prompt." The automated door guard shut off, and the board full of room buttons turned a hazel blue color. He spread his fingers wide, and swept his hand down, pressing every single button in a fluid motion. Everyone was expecting someone, more or less, and true to that statement the door on the opposite side of the glass chamber began to click repeatedly, he opened the door between clicks of the lock.  
"Works every time."

He was inside now, but he still didn't know what floor Schwartz was on. Mailboxes were unmarked, and so were parking spots, he would have to be more risqué. He wiped some rain off his trench coat, slicked it back on his metal skull, and walked up to a young woman in a red dress as she watched television.  
"Excuse me, I got a question." He bent over to not scare her with his height.  
"Huh? What do you want?" Her face lit up in disgust, as if he had been soaked in shit.  
"I work for the funeral department, and sadly I'm sure you saw it on the news Harmony Schwartz passed away yesterday. I am trying to find  
Henry, but it seems he's in such a sad state, that he won't pick up my calls, but he left this address but not his room number, do you know where he lives?" Playing and praying on this woman's empathy.  
"That's sad to hear, tell him my regards. He's on the 13th floor, room 300." She even managed to fake a few tears.

"Thank you ma'am. God bless." He bowed before heading to the elevator. He pressed the elevator button, red lights began to tick off starting at 200 on the LED screen above the elevator, and slowly went down. It would be here slower than if he climbed the stairs, which he didn't want to do. So he suffered in silence as the elevator finally reached the lobby floor. Getting inside the wood grain elevator with marble corners would be enough space for one person, but being a bulky robot, it was a tough fit. Pressing the 13th floor, it was a shorter wait, and he was damn glad about it. The elevator door slide open after the agonizing journey, walking out he noticed the hall had only four doors, a large mirror opposite of the elevators, with a bench underneath it, which on it sat a piece of stupid modern art. Sighing at the death of art, he spotted the door with 300 on it, gripping the handle he pushed down.  
"Locked." He looked around the door frame for shadows in the cracks to signify a lock or alarm. Finding only two, they put too much trust in that damn glass chamber downstairs. Pulling out his wallet, he slid out a credit card, pushed it against the first locking mechanism and lifted up, unlocking the first one. Pushing in the door, the chain lock stopped him from going any further, but he merely just snapped the weak metal with his fingers. He was inside now, but being locked told him someone was home. He closed the door, re-engaging the lock he stepped out into the foyer.

"Pretty swanky…" He walked around the kitchen and living room, examining the furniture, some made of fur and wood. Seems Henry preferred a more retro approach to his home. Less glob looking shit, and single color paintings, but actual art. The largest piece was hanging over the fireplace with a bear rug in front of it. In contrasting colors was Harmony painted in oil colors. Normally it didn't bother Stone, if he looked at dead people's pictures or paintings, but something was making his circuits stand on end when looking at the nandroid hanging above the fireplace.

A click made him turn around, he stood face to face with a cyborg, whose head was merely a VCR, with red glowing eyes, in his hands was a 12 gauge shotgun aimed directly at his chest.  
"Can we at least rewind and speak about this?" Stone asked the robotic man, as he looked around the room for cover or means of escape.

\------------------------------------------------

"What will happen to our stalwart hero? Is this the end? Tune in next week, when we find out. Show brought to you by First Strike cigarettes." The radio clicks and fizzles out.  
"Now for some tunes to get you grooving into the night."


	2. Crimes of the Third Kind.

"Welcome back from commercial break folks, this is the Rockford Blues, it's about that time again. True crime hour, the continuing harrowing adventures of the Defective Detective, Robotic Dick, Nightmare of Deadmodes, Bolt Stone! And his beautiful heartthrob secretary and sidekick of a nandroid Macy, and their crusade to bring justice for bots in our fair city, last we saw of him, he was held at gunpoint by last episode's villain, VCR-man."

"But first, tonight's show has been brought to you by Ingram Industries, 'Why put your family on the line with second rate defense? Buy Ingram, it's a guaranteed peace of mind.' Now without a further ado, today's episode:”

**Crimes of the third kind.**

\------------------------------

The library was quiet, humid, and smelled of old rotting books, and moldy, damp pages. Macy was checking through the records, newspapers, old coupons, anything she could use or find. She ran through several software programs on an old computer the library supplies for research, as it chugged along trying to find anything she could but all it gave back was an irritating noise of the hard drive clicking over and over as it loaded a single webpage.

"This thing is as old as Stone, how does he work faster than you?"

To spite her the computer popped up no results before starting to smoke and sputter. Frustrated, she pulled the side panel off and checked inside, something she soon regretted as a horde of cockroaches flew out towards her, she screamed scuttling out of the way of the chittering exoskeletons and onto a nearby table. The librarian shook her head, giving the generic and well known 'shoosh' before going back to work.

"This place sucks, why am I stuck here?" She muttered to herself as the horde slowly disappeared back beneath the books, she got off the table and went back to the computer, it wouldn't help her now, it was fried and covered in roach poop. Maybe she'd get better help from the librarian, even if she was a little rude. She made her way across the crusty, crunchy carpet of the library to the main desk, to meet a heavy-set old woman, wearing a musky brown tweed shirt, and bifocal glasses, stuffed into a chair four times too small for her.

"What?" The only omitted noise from the giant husky woman while looking at her computer screen, which was a much newer model than the one Macy just fried. 

"I-I need to find information on a celebrity, if you could."

"Name?" she sighed, opening a new program as she tapped the keys, getting impatient.

"Reginald, first name. That's all I have."

"250 results, do you have any specifics?"

"Hmm...related to Harmony Schwartz?"   
The librarian entered the information before looking back down at the nandroid.

"No results."

"Hmm, how about Reginald, Author?"

"2 results."

"What are they?" 

"Reginald Fontane, crime author, or Reginald E. Claire, video game developer."

"I see, can I have a print-out of some of the books relating to them?"

"Fine, 50 cents per copy. Total is 1.00$."

"I-I understand…" Macy rooted around in her purse for spare change finding a silver dollar. She clapped it down on the counter, which the librarian vacuumed down faster than a man at a Chubby Chaser strip club downing back sweat.

"Thanks for your business," offered the librarian. She began printing out the top ten books under the two people's names. The printer was slower than the computer Macy had shorted. It just slowly chugged and stabbed the paper with ink at an unbearable rate.

"So how's the weather…?" Macy asked the librarian to pass the time, but only got a dull glance in reply as Macy interrupted her virtual poker game for the third time, and she wouldn't let it happen again. Macy stayed quiet as she looked around the library, wallpaper stained so yellow you would figure they were from the start of Rockford itself. Classic wooden brown shelves lined with outdated books. The windows were hung with rancid, stained old curtains. Posters and fliers dating back to the 50s lined the walls, talking about books clubs and free pizza, and newer ones talked about D*U*H*, Drugs Uncool Human. Aside from that was the out-of-date furniture: chairs made of cheap, fake wood on roller wheels with god-awful, scratchy red fabric.

The nandroid heard a click from the printer telling her the papers were done, still warm to the touch, she grabbed the papers full of runny ink to read them at an empty table, which were in abundant supply it seemed.

She sat down on the loose, wiggly chair and began to read the printouts, smudging ink on her fingers once in a while as they had yet to dry.

-Reginald Fontane, wrote 5 books after leaving a life of crime. Most books involve his crimes, he always changed names of those involved.

-Reginald E. Claire, maker of several award winning games, including Custard Squirter, popular amongst elderly women ranging from 40 to 70 years of age. He has only written a single book titled "How to make her squirt and keep her squirting 101 ways." A popular college book, which only sold well in Japan.

"Well one seems possible, but… so does the other. Maybe I'll ask Stone." Macy pulled out her pager and left him a message, but after 20 minutes of not getting a reply she shrugged it off as he was getting wasted again at  _ Malted _ like he tends to do. He would get back to her in an hour or so, she'd just have to read the books and call him on a payphone. She stood up and left the table to collect the books she needed.

\----------------------------------

"Listen pal, if you wanted to kill me you'd have done it when I had my back turned. So what's your game?" Stone asked the man, who just tilted his fake wood furnished skull, the red eyes tilting up in a questioning gesture.

"Strong, silent, and comedian type? Those don't mix well, pal."

He shrugged as he took a step closer, pointing the shotgun towards Stone's face.

"Well, you want something, speak up." Stone switched to aggression, hoping anger would make him spit it out or slip up.

The VCR owner replied with a jerk of his head towards the kitchen.

Stone moved around the couch with his hands in the air, but this was what he was waiting for, as he kicked the couch up and grabbed the lip, flinging it at the VCR. His reply to the attack was to fire a shell into the couch before ducking down, but he was too slow as Stone sidelined him to the floor. They began to trade punches, wrestling about on the floor as-

{\\\\\\\\\URGENT News Report.//////}

Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeeeeeep.

We're sorry to interrupt your scheduled broadcasting of radio and television, earlier ago, terrorist group, Rusteasezz Nuts, took CEO of Sterling Robotics, John Sterling hostage, no demands were made but after 4 hours, the terrorists all committed suicide with the hostages in ritualistic fashion, the only survivor was John Sterling himself, who would not comment on the situation, but Sterling urges all owners of Sterling products to shut down their WiFi connection until further notice.

Repeat, shut down WiFi for any Sterling products, thank you.

Back to your scheduled programming.

Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeeeeep.

{\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\End of Report//////////}

-tone beat the VCR man with a bust of Harmony over and over until his tape started coming out in a tangled mess with oil that leaked everywhere onto the animal skin rug.

"Damn, I should've bought a DVD player…" Stone said getting up off the corpse, he dusted himself looking at his arm now mangled full of bullet holes. He heard glass shatter, turning around to find the corpse was still alive and had leapt from the window to the ground below.

"Fuck, I'm not chasing after him, I doubt my accucators can handle that height in my age. I'll just end up stuck in the concrete," announced the steel-bodied detective to no one but pictures of dead people as he threw the statue to the floor, going to the Kitchen to find out what the VCR wanted him to see. Opening the fridge door, he found Henry Schwartz stuffed into the fridge head down, ass up.

"Fucking great…" He pulled the cold cadaver from the chillbox, and set him down on the checkered tiles. He checked the fridge over for anything special, but it was all vegan garbage, probably for Henry to get healthier. Closing the fridge, he lit a First Strike, before tossing the spent match to the floor.

"Wait… did he want me to witness this?" He scratched his chin as he got on the floor to look over the body. Looks to be only a few minutes old, he thought. Still slightly warm, meaning while he waited for the elevator, Schwartz was alive and well. Stone slammed his fist into the fridge leaving a massive dent.

"Whoops, sorry about that pal, I'll foot the bill." He dryly chuckled as he cursed himself for being too late to save the man, “but you can't save them all,” he remembered from Lt. Dorn… He shook his head of unimportant memories as he got back to examining the cold remains.

No external wounds except purplish bruising at the neck. He felt the neck for the condition of the vertebrae. The third and fourth were popped clean out, professional job. Was it the VCR? He could have just killed Stone with his back turned, or left unheard when the door was left open, then blamed it on Stone, so that doesn't add up. He seemed too soft. Looking around he didn't see any CCTV, like he planned on using, he'd have to snoop around the old fashioned way.

\------------------------------------

Macy set down the stack of books, and began thumbing through them, most of the crime novels were interesting, but none matched the crime scene Stone described. And… E. Claire's book was full of pictures of sexual positions with him shoving Long John donuts into unmentionable places. She sighed slamming her face into the table defeated, as these both led nowhere.

"These gotta have something, or… maybe they don't." She lifted her head to begin reading again. There had to be something somewhere in here. She began looking through locations of print, special thanks, edits, author photos which there was more than she wanted to see. Maybe if she matched the authors’ names to what's on social media? That might work. She wrote down their full names she gained from the novels and put all the books back. She made sure the books were in order before she sat back down at a dinosaur of a computer, and booted it up, which she began to regret as the computer was taking forever to boot. She audibly sighed, earning her another shoosh, where she excused herself. Before long, she was placing her hands between her legs and just banged her head against the table silently, waiting.

\-------------------------------------

Looking around the condo gave no obvious clues what-so-ever. The Kitchen had only the body, which he had by now draped a sheet over out of respect. Plus, the living room was filled with so much of fucking knick-knacks it would put ol' Grandma Motherframe to shame. All of which were inspired by Harmony: lamps, statues, paintings, ships in a bottle, African war shields, metal cutouts, paintings, paintings, oh- and paintings. Which was odd in a way. Who obsessed over who? Was it Henry obsessing over his wife? It made sense, with how defensive he got today. Or it might have been Harmony letting her career get to her head. After all, stardom turns most people into egotistical bitches. He'd have to check upstairs next, so he slowly made the trek up the stairs to a dark bedroom, closet, and bathroom.

Checking the bathroom, the most private room in the condo, it had all the signs of a normal married couple, two toothbrushes, one blue, one pink. One razor, double edged, and a single edged wood gripped scraper. Multiple shampoos, of various colors and shapes, vibrant colors and darker colors. Walk-in style shower, single toilet. Checking under the sink produced nothing of interest. Seems the bathroom was normal, not even a lick of cocaine or other contraband. Very disappointing.

Moving on to the closet, there were only shoes, suits, and a shit-ton of dresses, some taken down and left crumpled on the floor. Nothing was underneath any of them so Stone just threw them back into a pile on the floor. Heading into the bedroom it looked like a shit-storm had hit the place: clothes everywhere, photo frames shattered on the floor, curtains ripped apart and left torn blowing in the wind. He stepped over to the first frame on the floor picking it up, three smiling faces beamed back at him behind the shattered glass on a beach in the bahamas. Henry, Harmony, and someone he doesn’t know. He thumbed out the photo turning it over. Nothing was written on the back, but he decided to put it in his pocket as it could be useful later. It’s not like the current owner can exactly say no. Most of the other photographs in the other frames were nothing out of the ordinary, just standard family photos involving Henry and Harmony, different places mostly involving exotic beaches, hotels, paradises, landmarks, et cetera. He scoured the rest of the room but nothing came up out of the usual mess you find in a love hotel after a 12 gauge love song. Seems he kept getting dead ends and more questions than he had answers. He stood up from the mess on the floor, taking one last look around before leaving the bedroom. He saw a familiar man he had not seen in ages checking the corpse on the floor, several blue uniformed men armed with assault rifles were combing the penthouse labeled  _ Crisis Team _ . They all looked up at Stone as he stepped halfway out the bedroom door.

  
“Well now, look what we got here boys.” The man got up from the cadaver dusting his hands off, turning his whole body around to look at Stone who stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

“Lt. McKinley… What a pleasant surprise, come to drop by my new pad?” Stone slowly descended down the stairs towards McKinley pushing past the armed men.   
“Care to explain then?” McKinley gestured to the corpse as he brushed his jacket aside to show the same revolver as Stone had in his own shoulder holster.   
“Came to visit a friend, saw a guy with a gun, fought him off... Found him like that, end of story.” Stone bluntly made his statement, matter of factly as he shrugged to the man at the end.   
“Doesn’t seem likely, but you have not provided evidence to defend your claim.”    
“Well, I could strip tease for you, if that’s what you’re into.” He rolled up his torn sleeve to show all the gunshot wounds in his arm.   
“He could have shot you while defending himself.”   
“You can check the entire penthouse, there isn’t a gun here but mine. Besides, if he had a gun, you know if I have the chance, I’m shooting first. The body doesn’t have any gunshot wounds, unless you just added some.”   
“And the broken window?” posed McKinley, now aggravated as he stomps his foot on the ground, grinding his teeth.   
“Perp jumped out of it, fell to the street and ran off, had a VCR for a head.”   
“Now if you think I’ll believe that for a second you got anoth-”

  
“Boy, stop fucking with Stone! The governor assigned him to this case, so shut yer mouth and be quiet.” The police chief came in wearing the normal black trench coat with bars labeling him as his rank that he was wearing earlier this morning.   
“Father, what do you mean? this murdere-” McKinley snarled at his father like a ravenous dog out for blood.   
“That man is no murderer. Do not say that again to my face, or I will strip my own son of rank and file, which I frankly don’t believe he has earned.” He stepped out of the front entrance into the kitchen, clacking his shoes prim and proper on the linoleum checkered tile.

“But father, he’s yet agai-”   
“Boy, I thought I taught you better to not speak back to superiors when you’re being ordered to stand down.” The Police chief looked McKinley in the eye, shoulders proud, eyes unmoving.   
“Tch, Yes, sir.” McKinley walked out the door giving Stone a death glare as he left.   
“Sorry about that, old friend.” The Police chief stuck his hand out for a good ol’ fashioned handshake, which Stone replied with in kind, vigorously shaking the man’s hand.   
“That boy can never forgive you for what happened.”   
“I don’t expect him to, but as long as you’re in charge, I feel this city will stay fair and just.”   
“Flattering an old man won’t get you ahead in life, and you know it.”   
“Advice from an old man, to an old man, heh.” Stone rolled out another cigarette as he leaned against the counter.   
“You, an old man? Damn if eternal life didn’t humble someone,” the Police chief heartedly chuckled, wheezing coming out once and awhile as he leaned back against the counter in the same fashion.   
“We all got sins, most of them age you quicker than most if I don’t feel it already. I don’t know what the feeling is that makes me think of staying in bed some days.” Stone rolled the soft cork between his hands as he contemplated the words he spouted.

  
“Well, as an old man to an old man, thanks for all your work. It means alot to me for what you do.”   
“Heh, I just do it for the money and the women who flock to sleep with me,” Stone boasted, smiling as he bickered with his old friend. Then his pager rang,breaking up the good times he was lulled by.   
“Sorry, I need to take this, thanks again for saving me.”   
“No sweating it. Just next time I come talk to you at that bar you like so much, pay for a round of drinks.”

“If you live that long, old geezer.” Stone waved goodbye while he walked out into the hall, right as CSI arrived in the elevator. He nodded out of courtesy before taking the same car down.   
“Today’s been one hell of a shit show,” he softly groaned as he pressed his metal forehead to the cold elevator brass doors. “I cannot wait for it to be over…”   
He checked the pager, the glass shattered from repeated scuffles. its numeric readout reads:

‘Meet at office, got names, thanks. <3 M.’  
He smiled at the tiny machine as he stepped off the elevator, then walked through the lobby of the building, exiting the glass doors and out into the great damp smog-ridden air of Rockford.  
  
\-----------------------------------------

Macy was playing with a few pencils building an attempt at a tent when the website finally finished buffering, Bunghole showed all current related pictures for “Reginald, Schwartz, Chicago Terror,” and what came back surprised her. On a news site it showed Henry, Harmony, and Fontane on the front cover for a blog rating a play that “Was inspired by a true crime story from Reginald Fontane, played by budding actress Harmony Schwartz starring in the lead role of Patsy lover of Ex-Crime boss.” She stood up clenching her fist in victory sending the page to print, she walked back up to the front desk defiant with a swagger of arrogance. The librarian looked down with a face of raw contempt as this was the fourth time she stopped her poker game. She rolled her eyes, and accepted the files sent her way, well of course after suckling down more quarters like a slot machine in a sleazy bar. 

After a long wait, Macy folded the paper into her bag, and ran out giddy as a horse to the bus stop, almost forgetting to pop out an umbrella as it began raining harder than normal. She stopped caught in the moment, remembering to send a message to Stone's pager, as the bus pulled up, spewing black smoke, the patter of heavy rain on the metal roof. She hummed to herself as the bus continued its route until it dropped her off at the local Reich XXX, erotica dime novel store, just down the block from the office. She slowly made the trek back to the office, the sound of heavy rain on her bright pink umbrella masked the sound of someone following her from a distance, wearing a mask that bore only a red and blue pulsating eye.

\-------------------------

He opened the door to the office, his coat dripping wet on the woven rug, the lights off but the heater was still going.

"Macy?" Stone called out. He turned the corner to find that the coffee machine was still running, however no one was here. It was deadly silent. He pulled out his revolver in a fluid motion, pushing the safety off as he searched room to room finding nothing was taken or searched through, but Macy wasn't here. He sent a message to her pager, it confirmed sent shortly after the phone rang on her desk, he grabbed the handle slamming it to his ear.

"Ah, brother… Lumps blessing upon you, it's been a while."

"You son of a bitch, where's Macy?"

"In due time, I would like to offer a trade in fact, for the… nandroid's life."

"You harm her, I'll fuckin-"

"Calm down brother, I am well aware of your advanced torture software, what we only want is a trade. Nothing too hard to find, either."

Stone clicked his tongue as he got out a notepad, forcing himself not to crush the yellow paper out of furious rage.

"What is it you want?"

"We want what was taken from us returned to us."

"You're not serious are you?"

"Oh, we very much are, brother, bring us the last remaining piece of our goddess, and we will not harm your precious lover."

The phone snickered before the line went dead.

This shit show just went nuclear, and not in the good way.

Why is the Cult of Lump getting involved, it's just a murdered actress, are they the ones who did it?

Or is it just coincidence?

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" 

He turned off the lights before running outside, locking the door.

\----------------------------------

"What will happen to our beloved Macy as she is held in the clutches of the evil Cult of Lump? Will Stone make it in time? What is the real reason Harmony was murdered?

Tune in next week, when we find out. Show brought to you by Ingram Industries. Now for some tunes to get you moving and grooving this Saturday night." The radio clicks and fizzles out as it loses signal.


End file.
